


Skin deep

by Butterfish



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Friendship, Love, M/M, Tattoo, florist
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-18
Updated: 2015-08-18
Packaged: 2018-04-15 11:19:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,269
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4604733
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Butterfish/pseuds/Butterfish
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Alfred is a tattooist without tattoos. Arthur has plenty. As they meet, they learn and discover some important truths about the world from each other.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Skin deep

The chequered shirt was rolled up his arms - skin like an adult colouring book, black-white pinup girls posed on chrysanthemums, the beast Fenrir wrapped in chains, the head of a raven peeked from above the shoulder. He grabbed, the man, pink roses and white daisies, rippled carnations, and a few alstromeria, - “A sign of devotion.” He wrapped them in brown paper (“Would you prefer cellophane? No?”) and tied it together with a ribbon. When presented, he asked, “Anything else?”

Alfred could’ve said, Yes Please, but smiled, “That’ll be all, thanks.”

The flower shop was tucked away between a Chinese fast-food joint, Suns of Asia, and a recruitment company. Outside, potted lilies and orchids framed the entrance, and inside Alfred inhaled the smell of flora unchallenged by his own ‘Flower2Power!’ synthetic spray. It was a break from his sterile tattoo parlour. However, with the arrival of the owner’s son, it seemed the tattoo parlour had now been brought to The Greenhouse.

As his purchase was rung up, Alfred leered at the guy’s arms, adored the row of letters that adorned his collar bone, was impressed by the cats on his hands. He didn’t look like a florist. Yet, he could not confront this contradiction as he himself did not look like someone who could handle ink.

Alfred Jones, sought-after artist in the city, had never had a tattoo.

“Arthur,” he said.

The guy looked up from the cash register and frowned, “What?”

Alfred blinked. “Sorry, I read- I mean, your tattoo. One of them says Arthur. There.” He pointed to his neck. Then mumbled, “Not that you didn’t know that your neck says Arthur.”

The man, Arthur, dragged his fingertips down said tattoo, and his frown melted into a slight smile. “Ah, yeah, right. For a sec, I thought we knew each other.”

“Right,” Alfred said, “that would’ve been weird.”

“Thanks?”

“I mean, knowing each other and not knowing that we knew each other. That would’ve been weird. Not that knowing you would be weird. Is weird.” He hesitated. “I’m Alfred.”

Arthur laughed, “Nice to meet you, Alfred,” and he shook his hand.

“You’re Angela’s son?” Alfred guessed.

Arthur nodded and handed Alfred his flowers. “I just landed yesterday. That’s why I look tired.” He poked at a non-existing bag under his left eye, “Right? Anyway, she’s going to pick up gramps. I haven’t seen him in years, not since I went abroad to study. We’re having a little get together tomorrow. But I can’t get used to driving on the wrong side of the road, know what I mean?”

Alfred just nodded.

Arthur laughed, “You lie so prettily. Anyway, long story short - that’s too late now, isn’t it? - since she has to drive, someone has to watch the shop. Ta-dah - Arthur to the rescue!” He threw his hands around like a magician.

“Well, I’ll be seeing a lot more of you then,” Alfred said.

“Will you now?”

“I mean, I come here often. To buy flowers.”

“Do you now?”

Alfred bit his inner cheek and glanced at Arthur. He looked smug, the guy, like he knew how to play him. Everything he said came out as a flustered mess. Alfred hadn’t felt so unsure since high school. “I’ll see you around,” he spoke.

“Have a nice day!” Arthur shouted as the door shut.

-

“Why haven’t you got any tattoos?”

The question buzzed at Ink Up, Alfred’s parlour. He sat, concentrated, the pencil sketch unfinished, the eyes of a dragon peered up at him. The wooden table was simple - a jar of pencils and liners, a mug of cold coffee, a vase with roses. Him and his sketch. He took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes. “What’s that?”

“Why haven’t you got any tattoos?”

Alfred glanced in the direction of the asker. Without glasses, he couldn’t read the girl’s expression, but he could see two green orbs smeared across her face. Her eyes, he assumed, as they watched him intensely. She was in the chair, her arm stretched as Natasha, his employee and only other artist in the studio, finished off her quote. 'Trust nobody’, it read. Alfred took it as a sign.

He stretched his arms and sighed, “Not saying.”

“Oh, come on,” the girl pleaded.

“You’re not the first to ask,” Alfred said.

Natasha smirked, “And she won’t be the last. Stay still, or the o will become a q!”

The girl slumped back into the chair and was quiet.

Alfred took a sip of his coffee and grimaced. “Some things are better unsaid. I’m getting Starbucks - do you girls want anything?”

“A shot of vodka,” Natasha requested.

“At least wait until you’ve finished my tattoo!”

“I take that’s a no,” Alfred said and grabbed his jacket. “I’ll be back in five.”

Outside, it was windy. Alfred wrapped his scarf one more time around his neck and sunk his nose deep into the thick fabric. He thought, 'No one’s scheduled for a session until eleven. I can stay out for half an hour.’ It wasn’t that he disliked Natasha’s company, rather he enjoyed her sarcastic tone and witty remarks. It was the damn question which had stirred him and caused his cheeks to darken. 'Why haven’t you got any tattoos?’ And why did it matter?

He walked the narrow street. A sign at the top of the hill pointed people in the direction of his parlour. 'INK UP’ it read, nothing else. No more advertisement was needed. The people who knew needed no more encouragement, and those who didn’t weren’t welcome anyway. He had the amount of customers he needed to live comfortably.

Once on the main street, he turned left and walked with the crowd towards the centre. It was just a little past 10am. The tourists were awake, cameras dangled around their necks, backpacks full of food nicked from the hotel’s morning buffet. Two businesswomen walked hand-in-hand toward the magazine stands on the corner. Alfred cut through a school class collected around the market’s centrepiece, a grand fountain in the shape of the first mayor of the city, and dived into Starbucks. He didn’t bother recognising the start and end of the line. He just waved at one of the girls behind the counter and leaned up against the window as he awaited his usual.

“You’re a bit of a knob, aren’t you?”

A hand closed around Alfred’s shoulder. He withdrew and glared at the person who’d snuck up next to him. For a moment, he couldn’t remember his name. Then his gaze fell on his tattoo. “Arthur,” he said.

“The one and only,” Arthur smiled and saluted. He pointed his thumb at the girl behind the counter, the one Alfred waved at. “Do you know her?”

“I come here all the time. Order the same. Pay the same. There’s no reason to line up,” Alfred shrugged.

“I repeat - a bit of a knob.”

“I don’t even know what you mean.”

“I’ve been queuing for twenty minutes just to order. Waited another ten to get this,” Arthur shook the drink at him, an iced tea, “and what do you do? Wander in here, wave casually,” he mimicked the gesture, “and-”

“Large americano for Al’!”

“-oh, there we go!” Arthur laughed and watched Alfred collect his brew and pay the girl the exact change. At most, the whole thing had taken him three minutes. Alfred was red when he returned to Arthur. “Entitlement.”

“It’s called having friends.”

“Ouch,” Arthur grimaced.

They walked out together and started wandering down the street, side by side. Alfred warmed up with his coffee. Arthur, dressed in tee and jeans, didn’t seem to sense the chilly weather. He drew looks with his tattoos, and he seemed to enjoy it.

After a few seconds of silence, Alfred spoke. “How’s gramps, then?” he asked.

Arthur chuckled. “He’s alright, thanks. It’s nice seeing everyone again after all this time.”

“How long have you been gone for?”

Arthur narrowed his eyes as he pondered. “Let’s see, I went in.. and then.. yeah, fourteen years? I’ve been on visits. Of course. But fourteen years.”

“Wait, you’re like- aren’t you twenty or something?” Alfred asked. “If you’ve been gone for twelve years, you were like.. eight when you left!”

Arthur blinked, amused. “Yeah?”

“Didn’t you say you went to study?”

“I did! I went boarding school in Glasgow, and sixth form in Berlin, and I decided to take a degree in art in London. Worst mistake of my life, mind, I can’t get a job now.” He laughed.

Alfred still stared at him perplexed. He hadn’t even left the country to go on holiday. Somehow, he felt inferior, and he looked for a way to change the topic of conversation. “So you work for your mom?”

“Just for now. I may continue. I may pursue something else. Why settle already? I’m in no rush! You gotta experience first, right?”

Alfred sipped his coffee in wonder.

They reached the sign for INK UP. Alfred turned right down the road, and Arthur followed. They went downhill. Arthur, having finished his drink, played with the plastic cup, pressing it in and out again, watching his name - spelled Arur by the clueless barista - pop back and forth like a 3D image. “That’s why I get tattoos,” Arthur said.

“Hm?” Alfred looked at him and stopped as they reached his parlour.

Arthur shrugged and dumped his cup in the bin next to the door, “A memory of what I’ve seen and done.” He looked at Alfred, and then at his watch. “Gotta be places.”

“I have to go back to work now anyway,” Alfred said.

“Well, see you around,” Arthur said and waved.

Alfred waved back.

Then they both turned and reached for the handle.

Alfred glared at Arthur. “…do you happen-”

“-to have an 11am appointment? Yep. Do you happen-”

“-to be that Alfred? Yep.”

They stared at each other. Then laughed.

-

The dragon swerved around the words on Arthur’s collarbone. Only this close, Alfred could read what they said - they were names. Not celebrity names. Common names like Jack and Amanda and Annie. He tried not to wonder about the meaning behind them as he traced the head of the dragon, its big, round eyes focussed on something in the horizon.

“I know what you’re thinking,” Arthur said.

Alfred didn’t stir. “That you’re a player?”

Arthur laughed.

“It’s not the worst someone can think about you. You’ve slept around? Cool. It means you’re desirable.”

“I don’t know,” Arthur said and eyed the ceiling.

The shop was black and white. The only ounce of colour in the room came from Natasha’s hair ribbon. Every day, it changed in colour. Today, the deep red was the only notable thing in the place. Everything else, including Alfred’s shirt and trousers, were black-white. Like a sterile hospital, Arthur thought. Or coal in snow. Both confused him.

“I didn’t make the connection,” Alfred said, “when you wrote that email.”

“Oh, the appointment? I had to request it before I came. I was worried I was gonna come and not be able to book. I thought, I better shoot it off a few months in advance, just in case. You are rumoured to turn down people just because you feel like it,” he said and looked at Alfred.

Alfred pursed his lips and grinned a little. “Maybe.”

“But when I saw you in the shop- no, I didn’t think it’d be you. Not even with the name matching. You don’t look like a tattoo artist.”

Alfred didn’t comment, but just continued on the dragon. As he reached its tail, Arthur sighed. He glanced up at him, “Not happy?”

“It’s not that. It’s what you said - that I’m desirable.”

“I wasn’t coming on to you,” Alfred quickly said.

Arthur shook his head with the trace of a smile on his lips. “I’m a virgin.”

If he hadn’t been reaching over for water, Alfred quite possibly could’ve made a wrong line across the dragon. He glanced at Arthur - the guy sat glancing back at him as if nothing in the world bothered him.

“What?”

“Okay, I mean- what? If you’re a virgin - what are those?” Alfred pointed to the row of names.

Arthur traced them, careful not to hit any skin Alfred had just tattooed, “Those are my experiences.”

“Sounds sexual to me.”

“Not like that,” he grimaced, “people I’ve met who’s touched me in some way. I’ve learned from them, I’ve grown because of them. The world doesn’t evolve around sex, you know. It doesn’t have to be names of exes and regrets. These people made me. I’m not about to apologise for that.”

Alfred raised his eyebrows. He had tattooed plenty of people who needed to fix old names. Wives that weren’t wives anymore, husbands who went off with best-friends, and I-got-this-name-while-drunk-oh-why!-tats. He had also tattooed plenty of people who got the names of family members - a long lost mom, a child, someone who didn’t make it. But he rarely saw people who got names just because.

“They’re not random,” Arthur said, as if he read Alfred’s mind. “They’re there for a reason.”

“What did Jack do?” Alfred asked and returned to lining the dragon.

“Jack was my first friend at boarding school. He punched me in the face. We never parted after that.” Arthur glanced down at Alfred as he spoke. He continued on, not waiting for a prompt, “Amanda was his girlfriend, a real nice girl. She introduced me to Norse mythology. That’s why I have Fenris,” he gestured at the wolf on his arm, “she was Norwegian. She changed my perception of religion. And Annie was an American exchange student I met while in Berlin. We partied a lot together.”

“That’s it, you partied?”

“I almost OD'ed. She saved me.”

“Oh…” Alfred felt like a jerk. He shut his lips tight together and just listened as Arthur went on to explain the story connected to each name, nine in total. Some had saved him. Some had changed him. Some had been jerks but shown him ways to overcome issues he dealt with. All of them, it seemed, had really had a lasting effect on him. He saw it in the way he spoke, in the words he chose to describe them - so casual and yet so fragile and honest. He saw it in his tattoos. The wolf of Amanda, the chrysanthemum of his mum, a line of names and pictures associated with them. Arthur.

“But you never slept with anyone,” Alfred concluded once more.

Arthur smiled, wryly. “Do you know what Mum said to me before I left?” He leaned forward and Alfred stayed still, so that their eyes were at line and their faces so very close. He looked into Arthur’s eyes as the guy spoke, “Arthur, she said, I want you to never be afraid. I want you to experience the world. I want you to take every opportunity to grow, to develop, to learn to know yourself better. I don’t want you to settle. When you settle, it’s because you know this is the next step in becoming you, and not because you’re afraid of the next step. When you settle, let it be because you’re fully aware, and settle only with someone who can handle all of you. Or don’t settle at all.”

Alfred listened. He couldn’t imagine Angela saying these things. Sweet Angela he’d known ever since dropping by the flower shop for the first time, looking for roses for a date. Sweet Angela with wrinkles and aprons covered in tulips- that Angela he’d considered frail and kind. She didn’t look like someone who took chances. She looked like a settler. Was that why she’d urged Arthur on?

Alfred licked his lips and looked down, the intense stare of Arthur’s being too much for him to handle. Arthur, in return, leaned back and let him finish the tattoo in silence.

As he finished, the only thing Alfred did was quote the price.

-

_“Why haven’t you got any tattoos?”_

Alfred. Seven years old. In the garden. The flowers were blooming. Red, white, yellow, blue, orange, purple. His mom drank wine. It was summer, 8pm. He remembered it. 8:01pm. She spoke,

“Your dad has left.”

“Will he come back?”

“I don’t know.”

“And if he does?”

“Then I’ll say, Alfred, your dad has returned.”

She lowered the glass. Her eyes were blue. No, her skin was blue - black and blue and red, depended on the impact. Down her neck. Down her arms. Any skin visible. Just like the flowers - colourful.

“Here’s the thing, hon’,” she said and shook around the wine. It splashed up the sides of the glass, like waves against the cliffs. “If you stray, you may get hurt. Those are the rules of the game. I strayed, I got hurt. There’s nothing unfair to it.”

“I think it’s unfair,” he said, eyeing her bruises.

“Look how beautiful the garden is,” she spoke and looked around.

Alfred kept staring at her.

She sighed and put the wine down. The glass smacked to the tabletop with force. “Stay put,” she said, “don’t stray. Don’t take chances. Don’t risk it. It’s not worth your life, Alfred, it’s not worth it. Stay put, and don’t ask questions, don’t let anyone get to you. It’s not worth it. It’s not worth it.”

He remembered her tears. He stayed put. He didn’t ask questions. He didn’t let her get to him, as he promised, as she said - he didn’t let it sink in. Stay put and don’t stray, so he didn’t.

-

_“Why haven’t you got any tattoos?”_

The club was full of people. Music and dance and sweat and strangers. The moment he was done, he went outside to have a smoke. Seated on the bins in the alley, he watched the sky and wondered, 'Will I ever get away from here?’

Arthur was on his mind. It annoyed him. Since that day at the shop, he hadn’t been able to stop thinking about him. The casual way in which he spoke of tattoos. He wasn’t even drunk. He didn’t stumble in to get things done - he considered them, and then had them placed on his body, as works of experience, as a way to showcase how he had grown and where he would go. However, Alfred couldn’t be tattooed like that - how could he, he had grown up and settled in the same place all his life. He didn’t know people, he experienced them at night, casually, in a club or in a bar, at a motel or at a restroom. He didn’t grow from the encounters. He just satisfied himself for another while. He ensured that he could still stay put and still, and not go out and get hurt. He had nothing to tattoo. He barely knew the meaning of his own name past that of recognition in the trade.

He took off his glasses and rubbed his temples with a groan.

“Rough night?” someone asked.

Alfred looked up and saw Arthur come out of the same backdoor as he had. He slipped a cigarette from the pocket of his jacket, lit it, and had a drag. As he blew out smoke, Alfred looked away again. “Same as always,” he replied.

“Hm,” Arthur said, “I’m not sure what that means.”

“I didn’t know you were staying in town.”

“My plane takes off on Wednesday. The tickets are booked. I’ll be going to Moscow.”

“Looking like that?” Alfred asked and gestured up and down Arthur - his tattooed body, leather trousers, boots. “You’ll be prosecuted.”

“You think there are no modern people in Moscow?”

“I watch the news.”

“So do I. And then I go and check it out for myself. That’s how we grow,” Arthur said and had another drag of his smoke.

Alfred flinched as if punched. “Nice. Thanks.”

“I didn’t mean it like that-…” Arthur lowered his smoke and slowly walked over to Alfred. He took a seat next to him on the lid of the bin. “What is it, did I offend you that day? I feel like you’ve avoided me.”

“The world doesn’t revolve around you, Arthur, I haven’t attempted to see you nor avoid you.”

“Sounds like a defensive answer to me,” Arthur laughed. As Alfred didn’t speak, he reached over and brushed his fringe aside. “Hey, look at me.”

He hesitated, then Alfred looked over at Arthur. “What?”

“Is it that you disagree with me, my world view? I heard you in there, you know, doing the deed. I don’t mind.” He shrugged. “You can do whatever. It doesn’t affect me.”

“I don’t disagree with you,” Alfred said. “I just think you’re misguided.”

“Try me,” Arthur smiled.

Alfred took in a deep breath and tugged his jacket more tightly around himself. The worn black parka hardly offered any warmth. “I think it’s good. To experience things and learn about yourself. It’s good, but the whole, settle with one person? Don’t you think- I mean, haven’t you considered that… maybe that’s an experience too? I mean, meeting someone, engaging with them, doesn’t that make you grow as a person?” Alfred bit his inner cheek and looked away. He felt flustered and stupid. He didn’t speak with the same confidence as Arthur, and he hated that.

But Arthur didn’t laugh. He asked, “Have you grown from having sex?”

Alfred huffed, “Well, I’m not talking personally. I don’t select people carefully, I’m - perhaps I’m stupid, I don’t know. But I think, if you pick someone, carefully, someone your opposite, you can learn from that experience, even if you don’t settle with them. You can grow from that.”

“You seem pretty settled to me,” Arthur smiled.

Alfred’s lips cracked upwards. “I guess I am. I am not a huge risk taker. I can’t even decide on a tattoo! Can you believe it? A tattoo artist who doesn’t have a tattoo. It seems ridiculous.”

“I never even noticed,” Arthur said, and there was something in the tone of his voice that made Alfred believe him.

As they sat, Arthur’s arm crept around Alfred’s shoulders, and he leaned in close to him, rested his head by his neck. Alfred shivered at the feel of his breath on his skin, and tried not to move.

“Maybe you’re right,” Arthur whispered, “maybe you can grow from engaging with people in that way. I’ve never thought about it. I always thought, if you get like that with someone, you have to settle with them.”

“And I always thought,” Alfred said, “that if you get too close to someone, you risk getting hurt, and it’ll ruin you. But getting hurt is part the journey, isn’t it?”

“No,” Arthur said, “if someone hurts you, you’re going in the wrong direction. It’s a sign to look elsewhere. Don’t settle for accepting pain. Settle for accepting change - and go with it.”

They were quiet for a bit.

Alfred snickered, “I feel a million times older having had this conversation.”

“Want to feel young again?” Arthur asked.

Before Alfred could reply, he was dragged into a kiss. Arthur’s lips suckled on his, and he let himself go, deep, close, into the kiss as if he wasn’t settled, as if he was free, and could go wherever, and experience whatever. And he grabbed Arthur’s jacket and returned the kiss, with the same passion he had bottled up inside of himself, the same fears he had kept at bay.

And he liked it.

-

Angela picked the petunias with care. As she reached for the cellophane, Alfred said, “Please, brown paper is fine,” and she cut off a perfect square and rolled them up with care. A ribbon finished off the bouquet, and she handed it to him.

“This one is on me,” she said.

Alfred blinked and laughed, “Oh, I can’t accept that.”

“Don’t be silly, boy. You come in here at least once a week and buy yourself poor. Take it, I won’t accept a no.”

“Thank you.”

Alfred smelled the flowers. They brought him back to the day he met Arthur - he remembered how the guy had carefully picked his flowers, wrapped them up, and handed them to him. He had been a stranger then. One night changed all that. In one night, he learned everything about the man - every inch of skin, every scar, every mark, every spot on his body. He learned to let go and be free.

“I should tell you, though, that I won’t be coming in for a while,” he said.

Angela blinked and looked at him from above her glasses. “No?”

“No,” Alfred said and shook his head. “I’ve booked a plane. I’m going on holiday.”

“Oh, good for you, boy! Good for you,” she crackled and smiled. “What about the shop?”

“I’m letting Natasha take care of it for a while.”

“You see, in all the years I’ve known you, Alfred, I never thought I should hear this from you. It makes me happy. Your mum would be proud.”

In the doorway, Alfred hesitated. He shook his head. “No, I’m afraid she wouldn’t.”

Angela, having not heard the remark, asked, “Tell me, where are you going?”

Alfred looked back at her from over his shoulder and raised the bouquet, “To erase my fears.”

As he stepped outside, he felt like he’d stepped out of his mom’s garden years ago. He didn’t long for black and white to calm him, he didn’t fear colours. He watched the petals of the petunias blow in the wind, break free and rush down the street like confetti. And he thought, 'Moscow, here I come.’


End file.
